


4/6

by aedandm



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-03-31 02:05:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3960331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aedandm/pseuds/aedandm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"All this happened as much as he didn’t believe in love. Well, he didn’t, right?"<br/>The Doctor is a professor at a university in London. He was his a normal life like anyone; he has his habits; he lives his life like any other. But he doesn't get involved with anyone because he simply does not believe in relationships or any kind of feelings.<br/>In fact he never felt any.<br/>This until he saw Clara, and not understand how his heart beat so fast for a woman he doesn't even know her name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I had started this story a long time back, but had given in 'cause of the lack of time I am having. But still I like very much of the little that I've written, and I think that with patience I go one with.  
> So just to warn you, English is not my native language and I have no beta. It can (probably will) have some grammar mistakes, but I hope it's nothing terrible.  
> And if you like left a comment for me to know if the story is as good as I think it is (or if it is worth continuing haha)  
> Hope you guys enjoy :)

He never understood love. It was something that was always happening around him: people meeting, finding each other, and falling in love.  
Just like that. 

It seemed to be something inevitable for the others, but none of that never make sense in his head, and for some time he like to believed in what everyone said: that he would feel that way when he find the right person.

He was twelve when he stopped believing in that.

As much as the adults try to explain love, he just couldn’t feel it for anyone. Even for his relatives. He could never understand. Was something out off his reach, something that it would never happen. And now, with him being adult, that feeling was reduced to something that he would never being interested.

Well, the most people would call him insensitive, and maybe he was, he did stopped disagree with them a long time ago. But still, he could not see the downside of this, of being insensitive. He never lost something in his life for the lack of love and he truly believed that he wouldn't really gain something from it.

In the end it’s just life. Love happens to some and not for others.

He never cried for being the others.

Nevertheless, he couldn’t claim to have never been with someone. As much as he didn't feel love, he tried for sometime to find, just to be sure. And maybe he tried more than he could, to get closer to someone when he was young. That really seemed stupid now, but back then, when he was a teen and still a idiot that could not accept the lack of love, he thought that he could create love.

And in the end it didn’t end as he planned.

He certainly created love, but not within him. 

No. 

The person with whom he was involved could never create love. Not within him, and maybe not within anyone. She created many things, and somethings that in till this days he thinks is the closest thing he came to love or obsession (he couldn't never tell the difference). It was something unhealthy, a relationship that destroyed him by inside and ate his whole being. She certainly was the worst thing that happen to him! The most poisonous thing that he has touch, and the most sickly a delusion relationship that anyone could have, but the only person who ever loved him.

The only person that try to come close to him.  
She loved him, and oh boy, how much she loved! For a while he thought she couldn’t never live without him, and in part he was right, because in till today she refused to leave him. Refused to be just a part of his life and memory and something that he left behind. Even now, when she was not always close, he knew that she never forgot him for one second.

She made clear that she was his life, no matter how much he try to deny. 

After a while he stopped trying to convince her otherwise. 

Eventually he stopped trying to convince him otherwise.

She was, in the end, the only one that came close e remind.

She was the only one that he let get in his world, and that maybe, just maybe, it made her the important person that she so acclaimed to be. And if you think about, was just her in his life, she was the only that truly cared about him (even if it was in an sickly way).

In fact, he never complained about that. He still believe that she was the closest thing that he can get from any kind of interaction with people. And sometimes he couldn’t help but wonder if this wasn't love, if this relationship that she provided, however appeared to be disturbed and crazy, was not the love that everyone was always talking about… or the love that he deserved.

That they both deserved. ‘Cause lets be honest, she was so guilty as him. He knew that that none of them was innocent, that both have created this relation and make this in some kind of private torture; both of then seek, for a long time, force some sentiment. And it seems that this was they payment: be tied into each other, in some sort of love.

Well, if it was love, he was sure that he wasn't really missing much. Been there, seen there. Wasn't nothing in that she could provided that he truly wanted.  
And it was almost like that he gave up of love. 

There was no such thing, at least not in the real world; at least not without being mad and vicious.

But even against all odds, after years resigned to the ‘non-love’, he couldn’t prevent his eyes from falling on the small creature mixed among many others in the hallway. He couldn’t keep his eyes from follow her, the girl with dark hair and red skirt, with books in hand and a simple smile in her face. His eyes could only see her, even if this didn’t make any sense.

She was beautiful, no one couldn't tell her other thing. She was simple and beautiful, as no one ever was.

He had never paid attention to any student before.

He had never paid attention in any woman after his first, and only, relationship.

But an inexplicable desire grew within him, and his mind screamed to know who was she, where she came from, where she was going, and if he could follow her, or least one name that could resume her, that could name this felling inside him… just her name. But his mind all went silent when she looked at him. Those big brown eyes staring fix at him, like she was only look for him all this time. And he knew he was screw when she smile and blink.

Fuck!

All this happened as much as he didn’t believe in love. Well, he didn’t, right?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the huge "hiatus", but I got stuck with college things and I'm a very slow writer. Thanks everyone who left comments and enjoyed the story, encourages me to write more.  
> Hope you enjoy this one!

Nothing was simple with her and he always knew that.

She was an enigma, something never discovered and for a long time he believed that he could decipher it. He would be very proud of it, but after almost forty years he realized that it never happened. She had a different air from others, something that everyone could feel. She have always drew everyone attention, and he once felt privileged to attract the eye and trust of her, but no more. This is because after a while he realized that she really had something different, that couldn't be denied, but it was something no one could share, its was her own world, her own mind, her own being. She was unique, but like him, she was bound to be alone, not to share anything.

He only noticed it too late, when he was already attached to this loneliness

He couldn't see the truth the first time he looked into her eyes. Just as he couldn't avoid looking in her eyes

There was something in her eyes when he first saw her. In fact he doesn’t remember when was that, it seems now like an eternity ago. It was like she has been always there. But he could never forget the memory her eyes, the way they stared at him, and that dark glow behind, as if she already knew all the future they would have to face together.

He wanted to know about this future; he couldn’t resist.

It all started in a strange way, he still remember the small height of her, the fragile appearance that she used to held around others when he met her. He vaguely remember her simple smile in front of her father, and the way she used to talk when she just a little taller than him (that only happened for a few yeas). But it was just a background image in his mind now, a small proof that he kept to remember that one day he thought she looked innocent.

What he most remind was when she was bigger, when she was old enough to use that red lipstick and walk around dragging him by his wrist. She always done that; he never complained. He remind very well the time that her lips could already achieve his lips easily, and he also reminded the first time she reached them.

It wasn’t kind, it wasn’t affectionate, it wasn’t definitely loving.

Desperate, that was the word.

It was always a desperate kiss, aggressively and possessiveness in is own way. It was as if she tried to prove something with those erratic and blind movements, or as if she were answering a secret question in her mind and proving something to herself through his lips.

And he answered the kiss in the same way.

He understood her need.

Not only her lips, but her whole body was, for long time, the false answer he was looking for explanation “sentiment”. He did not understand this answer as her lips sealed with his own, and not even when her body stuck against his as she pushed him against the wall, or much less when she wrenched moans from his throat for just touch his body and bite his neck.

No doubt that was something inside him that liked what she did in every touch, in every kiss she trailed in his body and in every second she spent giving him pleasure, but it was not love. He took a long time to realize this. He was too busy with the questions in his mind and with the possible answers that could be in her neck, between the bites that left a possessive mark, as a mirror of each action and voracity that she made upon him.

From the beginning he found her perfect, from the first smile he found himself bound to her, and just the first kiss was enough for him to surrender completely to her. He wanted her to completed him so badly. And as much as even today still existed the void that she could never fill, he never managed to take back his 'being', he never managed to say, staring at her blue eyes, that she was less perfect and less eloquent than the first time he surrendered.

After trying for years to leave her, to take her out from his blood and his being, he finally gave up.

It was not love.

It could not be!

But maybe it was what he deserved. What she deserved.

They were two 'things' without feelings, who met and that could only completed themselves in carnal moments. They could produce something momentary, something that look like love, but that wouldn't last more than the time it take to satisfy his body.

He understood that this was a "relationship" for both.

She would come, she was always the one to look for him! Would always appear at the foot of his door, with an innocent smile and will say all things that a 'normal relationship' would require: she missed him, she didn't want to be apart from him, she needed him, she loved him.

And, as tradition between them, the Doctor would resist. He would say that he was tired of it, that he felt nothing, that she didn't feel anything, and that all 'that' was just a waist of time, there was not any sense in it. He would resist with words, but would let her in into his house, to wrap her arms around his waist and pull him close to her body. He would utter every word of hatred and contempt in a lost attempt to convince her to leave, to follow her life without him, even though the red marks she left on his neck were the way to his sin.

And the Doctor never learned to resist a sin.

She would whisper his name in his ear while convincing, in small steps, to take him to the bedroom.

Whenever the word 'Doctor' came out of her mouth, he would remember that this was the name she chose for him. He would remember as the only identity he had, and consequently that he always belonged to her. And every kiss, every bite, every scratch and every moan that she caused him was just another way to remind him of it.

He was hers; and even if he didn't wanted, she was his.

So he would surrender to the moment, he would take everything she always offered, even if was momentary, even if later he would curse himself for letting her do it again.  
He would take her body and her soul. He would worship every piece of her skin with lewd bites and would release every pleasure he knew she had. She taught very well! His mouth would make a path to her chin down to her belly; not lose much time with her breasts, she didn't like much and he had learned over the years that it was not worth the time; he would hurried the best he could to her thighs, there would be a work to do. She would enjoy every second that he lost giving her pleasure, and she would reciprocate the same measure, marking all his body with that indecent shade of red.

He would lose himself within her. It was the only explanation for the feeling he felt every time her body entwined with his. She made him see stars, the universe and impossible things. Despite all resistance that his body would show when he saw her, this same body couldn't deny the heavenly experience that her body provided him.

It was that moment when he would felt close to a feeling. It was in every time her hips came to meet his that he could understand his addiction to it. It was more than pleasure, was the closest thing that he could be from 'love', and as much as he had given up from this years ago, there was nothing in the world, in that exact moment when he felt his body connected to her, that would make him to give up to feel her again.

She was a drug, and he was an addict. He could deny all he wanted, but he knew he would never be able to resist.

Until a moment that this 'feeling' would escaped through his fingers. With the carnal realization all 'that' vanished instantly, all the stars and all the universe... fading, and once again he would be torn by situation.

It was an addict after wave; he would be thrown into a hole, wanting to feel high again and angry that he let himself get carried away by his addictions. While she smirked, biting his shoulder and to rise to search for her clothes and go.

They were years of it.

Every time she would go away, always saying loving things, spending honeyed kisses and tender touches. She would be kind every way, promising to return, promising to stay, promising what he wanted most. And in the first years he would be there trying to believe in every word, allowing to becoming more and more dependent on the lips, fingers, skin, voice, all her being. He would be intoxicated with every part of her, even knowing that she would never give her every part, and neither he would.

It was a lie. Both were very good at lying that after a while it was hard not to believe in the lies.

But after a while of this routine he began to no longer hear her words and not to feel her 'goodbye' touches. He would just lie down there, eyes closed, repeating the previous minutes in his head, and wondering what exactly he thought she was giving him, if he was really getting answers to his questions and his needs.

When she noticed that internal questioning in him, she started to stay lie in bed a little longer. She would curl the hair of his chest on her finger and would be much more receptive to him. In these cases she would leave only after he fell asleep, as if she was trying to make sure that he wouldn't have time to have doubts about her.

Sooner or later the Doctor no longer believed in her. He didn't believe in false feelings, and no longer believed that he could fell love through her... through anyone.

Of course she realized this, and of course she pretended not to notice. Of the two, she was the best lair, and she could keep a lie, even to herself.

She like him; unlike him, she managed to answer her internal questions, and even if she didn't stay until morning, he knew that everything she did at night was to prove once again to him, and to herself, that she loved.

He once tried to tell her to not love him.

She laughed and told him not to worry. She wasn't capable of it, that's what she said, neither him, she added after another laugh.

And this was the life for both.

He would have some constant things in his life at his 51 old: an address, a job as a professor of English History, accounts to be pay, the newspaper that would be every morning in his door, the weekly trips to the market place, the little things that would make a routine that he enjoyed growing.

But he would have her too. The tornado that would appear at irregular times, remember him of his addiction over the flesh, making him feel weak for one night, and tell him the most absurd stories about the remote place she was this time. He would sleep with her in his arms and wake up alone, with only marks of last night aggressiveness that seem to last until her next visit.

That was life for the Doctor.

And everything was the same in the fall of that year. London rain falls as always, some neighbors on his street had already prepared themselves for Christmas with luminous decorations, and she was again in his arms, in a warm bed, distracted with her own thoughts as he recovered his breath and tried to analyze what had just happened.

\- Where were you? - She ask pulling him from his thoughts with a whisper in his ear, then pulling away to look into his eyes.

\- What are you talking about? - The Doctor asked genuinely confused by the question and the smile that she outlined

Her nails, with the same color as her lipstick, traced the lines of his lips a few times before she spoke again, - You were not with me this time.

\- I'm never with you, Missy. - The answer was dry and ready. Even he knew it wasn't the answer to her question, this was a real answer to another.

\- Who were you thinking?

He remembered how he got there, with Missy, in bed. She appeared at his door, as usual, prepared to smile and beg him to let her to come in, but this time he didn't hesitate to invite her in. He responded more willing to her kisses, trying to understand why her lips seemed different, even though he knew she was the same. He took her to the bed, a rare thing in between them. He worshiped her body with his eyes closed, trying to understand why it all looked so different, and why he want this so badly.

Until he open his eyes and see her.

There was no Missy, at least not in his mind. The face was hers. The short girl with swollen eyes and red skirt.

At first he was amazed at the perfection of her face, how his memory held so many detail and how his imagination made it seem so real.   
He had already thought how much gorgeous she was, in one night alone while enjoying a good scotch. In that night he tried to understand why such obsession by a mere image stuck in the back of his mind. Were almost four months he had seen her in college, at the beginning of classes in September. He never find her again; not that he really had tried or pursued her. But since then, his mind was often distracted with her image, with her smile, with her huge eyes (especially when he was drunk). He tried to put some logic in these thoughts, or pull her away from his sudden desires, but at the end of each internal fight he surrendered to her image. It was pathetic, it was sentimental, but he couldn't help the feeling.

It was as a personal haunting. 

And now he remembers, she was there too, when Missy came. He was with her, whoever she was. He was after her through Missy.

\- I don't know. - He broke the silence after a while, lying.

Missy continued looking into his eyes, even when he had averted his gaze a long time ago. She knew. She always knew what was going on in his mind, she was just waiting to see if he would yield.

\- You should solve this. - She said after a time, tired of waiting for the Doctor to admit - Take it from your system, so you can enjoyed "we" again.

She laid her head back on his chest and took a deep breath, pretending to sleep, as usual.

\- I' stop enjoying "we" a long time ago.

His answer caused a small laugh of her which was muffled as she left a tender kiss on his chest.

\- Oh, you wish.


End file.
